Rafe smiled at his sister while he dandled her eight-month-old infant Merritt on his knee. The baby was dark haired and brown eyed like both her parents, with rosy cheeks and grasping little hands. After tugging off one of his waistcoat buttons with a determined yank, the baby attempted to put it in her mouth. “No, darling,” Rafe said, prying the button out of the wet clenched fist, and Merritt began to howl in protest. “I’m sorry,” he said contritely. “I’d scream too if someone took away something I fancied. But you might choke on that, love, and then your mother would have me shanghaied to China.”

“That’s only if Westcliff didn’t reach you first,” Lillian said, taking the squalling baby from him. “There, darling. Mommy won’t let mean old Uncle Rafe bother you any longer.” She grinned and wrinkled her nose impishly at him as she soothed her daughter.

Marriage and motherhood became Lillian, Rafe thought. His sister had always been a headstrong creature, but now she seemed calmer and happier than he had ever seen her before. He could only credit Westcliff for that, although how such a proper and autocratic man could accomplish such a change in Lillian was a mystery. One would have thought the pair would have killed each other within the first month of marriage.

After the baby had quieted and Lillian had given her to a nurserymaid to take upstairs, Annabelle and Evie arrived.

Rising to his feet, Rafe bowed to the ladies as introductions were made.

Mrs. Annabelle Hunt, wife to the railroad entrepreneur Simon Hunt, was said to be one of the great beauties of England. It was difficult to imagine that any woman could eclipse her. She was the perfect English Rose, with honey-blond hair and blue eyes, and a pure, fair complexion. Not only would her figure have driven a saint to sin but her expression was so lively and beguiling that it instantly put him at ease.

Evie, Lady St. Vincent, was not nearly so approachable. However, Lillian had already warned Rafe that Evie’s shyness was often mistaken for reserve. She was unconventionally lovely, her skin lightly freckled, her hair rampantly red. Her blue eyes contained a cautious friendliness and vulnerability that touched Rafe.

“My dear Mr. Bowman,” Annabelle said with an engaging laugh, “I should have known you anywhere, even without an introduction. You and Lillian share a distinct resemblance. Are all the Bowmans so tall and dark haired?”

“All except Daisy,” Rafe replied. “I’m afraid the first four of us took up so much height, there was nothing left for her when she arrived.”

“What Daisy lacks in height,” Lillian said, “she makes up for in personality.”

Rafe laughed. “True. I want to see the little scamp, and hear from her own lips that she married Matthew Swift willingly, and not because Father bludgeoned her into it.”

“Daisy truly l-loves Mr. Swift,” Evie said earnestly.

At the sound of her stammer, which was something else Lillian had warned him about, Rafe gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said gently. “I’ve always thought Swift was a decent fellow.”

“It never bothered you, the way Father adopted him as a de facto son?” Lillian asked acerbically, seating herself and gesturing for the others to do the same.

“Just the opposite,” Rafe said. “I was glad of anyone or anything that took Father’s attention away from me. I’ve had enough of the old man’s damned short fuse for a lifetime. The only reason I’m willing to put up with it now is because I want joint proprietorship of the company’s European expansion.”

Annabelle looked bemused at their frankness. “It appears we’re not bothering with discretion today.”

Rafe grinned. “I doubt there is much about the Bowmans that Lillian hasn’t already told you. So by all means, let’s dispense with discretion and move on to the interesting subjects.”

“Are the ladies of London a subject of interest?” Lillian asked.

“Definitely. Tell me about them.”

“They’re different here than in New York,” Lillian warned him. “Especially the younger ones. When you are introduced to a proper English girl, she will keep her gaze fixed on the ground, and she won’t chatter and gush on as we Americans do. English girls are far more sheltered, and not at all used to the company of men. So don’t even think about discussing business or political affairs, or anything of the sort.”

“What am I allowed to talk about?” Rafe asked apprehensively.

“Music, art, and horses,” Annabelle said. “And remember that English girls seldom offer their views on anything, but instead prefer to repeat their parents’ opinions.”

“But after they are m-married,” Evie said, “they will be far more inclined to reveal their true selves.”

Rafe gave her a wry glance. “How difficult would it be to find out about a girl’s true self before I marry her?”

“Almost imp-possible,” Evie said gravely, and Rafe began to smile until he realized she wasn’t joking.

Now he was beginning to understand why Lillian and her friends were trying to find out more about Lady Natalie and her character. Apparently it wasn’t going to come from Lady Natalie herself.

Looking from Lillian’s face to those of Annabelle and Evie, Rafe said slowly, “I appreciate your help, ladies. It occurs to me that I may need it more than I thought.”

“The person who will be most helpful,” Lillian said, “is Miss Appleton. One hopes.” She parted the lace curtains at the window to glance at the street. “And if I’m not mistaken, she has just arrived.”